


Of All the Gim-Jahk Joints in all the Galaxies

by ummmmm (sumhowe_sailing)



Series: In all the galaxies... [1]
Category: EOS 10 (Podcast), The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (though not by that name of course), Angst, Fluff, M/M, sad space gays pining for their grumpy heroes, surprisingly canon compliant for both universes - for now at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/ummmmm
Summary: Set immediately post-Final Resting Place. Peter Nureyev is running away from his feelings--running far, far away.And far, far away in an abandoned cargo bay of an intergalactic travel hub, Akmazian is about to get a surprise guest.





	1. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read *everything* for both of these fandoms yet, but I couldn't find anything like this and honestly I am amazed. I meant for this to be a one-shot about these two commiserating over their inconvenient loves, but it took on a life of its own prtty much immediately. 
> 
> ((also, sorry this is all gonna be unbeta'd and barely edited cuz that's just who I am. Oh, and please forgive the corny title, it was meant to be a place-holder but now I love it too much to change it))

He didn’t usually make this kind of mistake. He could remember a time when he didn’t make _any_ kind of mistake, but lately… lately everything was off. Instead of moving on with his crew when his hideout on EOS 10 was compromised, he’d let himself get hooked on a pretty face and a clever mouth. He’d left for a few days, sure, but he couldn’t stop himself from coming back. And since then it had been a slippery slope from one mistake to the next – with Iris, at the trial, with Oslo, and now this.  A surprise visitor. And not the usual kind either, the kind coming through the maintenance shaft to ask for a favor. No, this was worse. There was a small craft outside the station, and someone was coming in.

Someone, or maybe several someones. He had no way of knowing. He didn’t have anything to monitor the airlock, and no equipment to scan for incoming life forms. Who were they? What did they want? Was it worth the risk to let them live long enough to tell him? He didn’t know. He had his blaster at the ready, and was strategically placed in the shadows with the best angle for a shot at the door. The only problem? His visitor didn’t come through the door. Not one that had been there before anyway. He saw the narrow plasma beam ripping through the station’s inner walls _just_ too far around the corner of that cargo box for him to get a clear shot without exposing himself too much. What the hell was the point of that? of risking hitting an O 2 line to make a new door? Who…

Before he could finish that train of thought, he saw the freshly-cut panel being pushed out of the way and a long, lithe body stepping calmly through. He was tall, whoever he was, and slender. Even from here, in spite of the dim –almost dark—surroundings, he could tell the man simply exuded confidence. Confidence, power, and something else. Something familiar. Pain didn’t seem like the right word, but it was probably the right category. And now he was looking around. Moving cautiously, checking his new environment. It wouldn’t be long before he got to this box—to Akmazian. He didn’t look armed, but somehow Akmazian felt that wouldn’t really be a disadvantage for this stranger. He struggled with all his instincts for a moment or two before stepping out of the shadows.

“Who the hell are you?”

In the blink of an eye, the man had disappeared behind another crate. Well, he couldn’t blame him.

“Now, based on the way you came in, I’m assumin’ you’re not an Alliance officer. I might even guess you’d rather avoid them if you can. Which means we might have somethin’ in common. You wanna come out of there and we can see if we’ve got anythin’ else to talk about?”

“Well, if you put it like that…” came a shockingly smooth voice. But he didn’t emerge from behind the crate.

“Come on, friend. This doesn’t have to be difficult. Let’s talk. Why are you here?”

“Talk? Well, yes, I suppose we could do that. For instance, you could tell me who _you_ are.”

Akmazian noticed two things. First – the man had sidestepped every question he’d been asked. Second – the voice was moving. Was he trying to keep him distracted so he could sneak up on him? Probably. It was what he’d do. But he didn’t intend to be duped that easily. As he answered, he maneuvered backwards to get his back against a wall—a wall with no boxes within ten feet of where he’d be standing.

“You mean you don’t recognize me? I know it’s dark in here, but I thought everyone this side of the Melshan sector knew me.”

“That might explain it then. I’m not from this side of the Melshan sector. Do you mean to say the first person I happened to meet on my vacation is a celebrity?”

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Home isn’t a word I have any use for.” And there it was again. That pain. Concealed so carefully it almost didn’t seem like there was anything to conceal. If Akmazian didn’t know that tone so well himself, he would never have spotted it. But before he could think of anything to say, the stranger’s voice was pressing him again. “So tell me, what is a celebrity like you doing in a place like this? Come here often?”

“Now and then. I conduct some business here. What about y—“

“And that craft docked just outside, the— _Silent Storm_ was it? Is she yours?” The voice was close now, probably just a few feet away. He still couldn’t see the visitor, couldn’t even really tell which crate he was hiding behind, and certainly had no idea how to deal with the standoff that seemed imminent. But it no longer seemed worthwhile to be a pushover. So he pushed back.

“Listen, friend, you’ve got a lot of questions for a man who won’t say a word about himself. I don’t want this to get ugly, but don’t think you’ve got nothing to be afraid of here. Why am I here? A man murders an entire star system, he’s gotta have somewhere to relax on weekends.”

“What?” Confusion. It was the first touch of any real, open emotion the visitor had betrayed.

“I’m the only kind of celebrity that matters. Now why don’t you come out and play?” He had dropped his voice, made it as low and threatening as he could. Which was why it caught him so off guard when the visitor broke out laughing. Not a nervous chuckle, not a brave-faced defiant “ha!”—just genuine laughter that went on and on.

Finally, the visitor stepped out of the shadows. In this little opening it was only dim, not truly dark, and Akmazian was able to get a look at him. All of his features, from his cheekbones to the teeth flashing in that wide grin, were unnaturally sharp. Akmazian was certain they’d never met, but something about the man’s face was immediately familiar. A face he used to know. But _how_?

“Very well, let’s play. What’s your game? No cards, if you don’t mind, I seem to have lost my good luck charm.” Akmazian noticed the slight hitch in his voice on the word ‘lost’, the way he swallowed just a little when he’d finished speaking. So that was it.

“ ‘M afraid that takes all the fun out of it. We could make it a guessing game, if you like.”

“I’m not in the mood to barter with truths. Let’s play a better game, a _lying_ game. You tell me a lie. I tell you a bigger lie. Then you have to top that.”

“And so on and so forth?”

“Precisely.”

“Alright. Doesn’t sound so hard.”

“Beginning already, are we? Well, at least you’ve set the bar low to begin with. I like your place, very charming.”

“You’re a very funny man.”

“ _Lies_ , remember? But I see your point. Well, I suppose we don’t have to play like that. Shall we make it more interesting?”

“Love to,” Akmazian replied glibly, but honestly he was confused. What were they doing? What did his guest hope to gain by this?

“Let’s only tell lies about ourselves, shall we?”

“Whatever you say.”

“I believe it’s your turn.”

“I don’t believe it is.” Akmazian glared at him. The visitor raised a well-groomed eyebrow and Akmazian realized he’d missed something. Oh. That had been the lie. This man played the game as naturally as breathing. Well shit. He just might be a bit out of his depth here.

“I…I’m glad you’re here.” Akmazian finally countered.

“And there I thought we’d agreed not to get personal. I’m here because I have business on EOS 10.”

“I came here alone.” Damn this was harder than it sounded. Asking him to lie about himself was just a clever way to worm out some truths. He could do better than this. He’d have to.

“I’m really pursuing some allies in the void.”  
“I don’t like shadow puppets.” Fucking hell. The man stared at him for a long moment; Akmazian could practically see the thoughts flitting through his mind ‘what did he just say? He can’t possibly have said what I thought—no, no he definitely did say that. What the hell?’ Eventually the man cleared his throat.

“ _Bigger_ lies than the previous ones, you recall? I agree, it’s a vague instruction with some room for interpretation, but still, I think we can agree that shadow puppets are a step in the wrong direction.”

“Right. You’re right.”

“So?”

“What?”

“That means it’s still your turn, my dear friend. It will still be your turn until you tell a bigger lie.”

“I…I’m only here to conduct my business.”

“Mmm,” the man’s expression clearly showed he was getting bored. But he kept playing. “I have three colleagues in my ship, waiting to avenge me if anything happens in here.”

The flicker of doubt that ran through Akmazian’s mind was unnecessary. It didn’t matter if the lie was just the number of his colleagues, maybe there were two, maybe there were seven, maybe there were none. It didn’t matter because Akmazian wasn’t planning on throwing the first punch, so the warning really wasn’t necessary.

“I’m planning to harm you.”

The man raised his eyebrow again.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

Akmazian shrugged. He didn’t mind that the man had stopped playing that stupid game.

“I think this conversation might be more productive if we could just say what we meant.”

“Yes, I suppose so. The game is more fun when you’re playing with someone you know anyway.”

“So tell me,” Akmazian began, but they blurted out the question in unison: “Who are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Who are you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Childish, my friend, very childish.”

“But true all the same. You might recall, it was the first thing I asked when you came in here. You tell me, I’ll tell you. Simple as that.”

“Alright,” the man sighed, annoyed. “To satisfy my own idle curiosity, you can call me Camille Volte.”

“You can call me Akmazian.”

If some small part of him had been hoping that the intruder would recognize the name, would balk and cower when he finally he realized he was standing in front of the (alleged) terrorist of the fourth war, that part was disappointed. The man simply shrugged.

“I see we’re both using aliases today.”

“Only difference is, mine has a track record.”

“Oh mine might, by the end of this. I doubt it though. I don’t usually leave any messes behind.”

“Except last time?”

The man—Camille, for now—looked sharply at him. He’d struck a nerve. It had only been a hunch, but now he was certain. There was a story there, somewhere in the half-hints the man may not have even realized he was dropping.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve only got one of two reasons for bein’ all the way out here. Either you’ve got business, which you’ve already told me you haven’t, or you’re runnin’ away from somethin’. And to run this far? Must be somethin’ pretty bad.”

“And you would know because you have the same agenda. You, what was it? Destroyed a star system?”

“I was framed for it. As far as practical details go it amounts to the same thing. It’s why I came here in the first place.” He didn’t know why he did it, but a moment later he added, “But not why I stayed.”

“And that was…?”

“Nope. You know what I’m running from, you tell me what you’re running from. Then we can go on to the next bit.”

“You’re exasperating.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence. Eventually Camille sat down on the nearest crate and sighed. “Not what. Who.”

There was a wistfulness in the man’s voice that didn’t need any explanation. It was the kind of longing noise his heart made every time he took the _Silent Storm_ more than a few kilometers away from the station where a certain smartass doctor happened to be working.

“Well. If you want to stay for a bit, I can help make you comfortable here. Just, uh, be careful around the maintenance shaft over there. You never know when someone’s gonna drop by and I assume you don’t want your presence on board advertised.”

“And what exactly is so charming about this—what is it? a cargo bay?—that I should want to stay?”

“You’ve gone so far past the charmin’ planets that I can only assume you intended to live rough for a while. You don’t come this close to the void for the view.”

“Mmm.” It was noncommittal, but Camille was still sitting on the crate.

“You want anything? Food? Sleep?”

“Are you always so—hospitable?”

“No.”

“So I’m just special?”

“You’re just more interestin’ than most people I run into. And you’re not actively tryin’ to kill me right now. Always a plus.”

“Food would be…nice.”

 

 

It took a couple days before either of them got used to it. Akmazian got the food, kept watch, and tried to figure out why his guest seemed so familiar. And Camille, or whoever he was, polished knives and doodled and…and Akmazian wasn’t sure what else. The only thing he really knew was that Camille wasn’t sleeping. The bags under his eyes were no longer subtle, and his exhaustion was even more obvious. At first Akmazian thought it was a survival thing – can’t sleep when a stranger who might actually be a terrorist is just a dozen feet away. But the first time he managed to sneak up on Camille (just to see if he could), the man didn’t even seem to care. He didn’t flinch, didn’t raise a hand, didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow. Akmazian almost felt Camille would have watched him raise the blaster, take aim, and shoot, without batting an eye. So the sleep thing was just another mystery about this man.

They chatted idly while they ate, but didn’t talk much aside from that. Camille wouldn’t say anything more about himself, so Akmazian filled the silence with his own story. He explained the whole “wanted for murdering an entire star system” thing, explained in great detail how it was all a setup, and the trial, and its disastrous after-effects, and somehow Camille just didn’t seem phased by it.

“You don’t believe me?”

“What? Oh, I do apologize, I was—distracted. Yes, I believe you’re innocent. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

Distracted? From a story like that? Damn, something was eating this man. Something big. And if he wasn’t going to tell him voluntarily…

When he got back with the whiskey, Camille was doodling again. Over his shoulder, he observed for a moment, curious. An intricate loop curling in on itself, over and over and over, small filaments branching out—and an erratic angry slash cutting through it all. It looked like a planet? Maybe?

“Have a drink with me?”

“Do you have anything stronger than that?”

“It may not be Cyriliac Ale, but it’ll get you there eventually.”

“More than one way to skin a cat, I suppose. Did you bring glasses?”

“Do I look like room service to you?”

“From the bottle it is. Have a seat, won’t you?”

Akmazian pulled a crate within arm’s reach and sat down. He may not have been classy enough to have glasses lying around, but he had the good manners to let Camille take the first drink. And damn did he look like he needed it. He took the bottle back, but didn’t hold onto it for long. Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe the man was just a lightweight, but it barely took twenty minutes for Camille to slip enough to give Akmazian an opening. He pounced on it immediately.

“So. What’s their name?”

“Juno.” It was said without hesitation, almost in a whisper. As if he’d been waiting the whole time for Akmazian to just ask.

“What happened?”

“What _didn’t_ happen? A whirlwind romance, a sudden betrayal, lots of pining, a beautiful reunion, torture, revenge, true love, monsters. He left me. Without a word. Just when I thought we’d made it work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Do you, uh, want to tell me more about it?”

“No. I never want to think about it again. But that’s not an option. I think perhaps the best alternative may in fact be talking about it.”

“I won’t say anythin’, if you don’t want. I can just listen and then never mention it again.”

“That’s a very tempting offer.”

“Then take it.”


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t the worst headache he’d ever had, but it was up there. Last night…well. It had been a hell of an evening. He hadn’t intended to let it go so far. He just wanted to hear Camille’s story and get him drunk enough to help him sleep for once. Instead… Aw hell, he’d told him about Ryan, hadn’t he? Maybe it was only fair. Camille had told him all about Juno after all. Alright, probably not _all_ about him, but enough for Akmazian to understand what he was going through. Why he’d run so far to get away from that memory. Why he didn’t trust himself to sleep anymore.

A groan from a few feet away roused him enough to at least look around. They hadn’t even gone to the mattress rolls that served as beds. They’d apparently just fallen asleep on the floor where this had started. The empty whiskey bottle was closer to Camille—who was currently clutching his head. And maybe it was the sight of someone else in pain, pain he couldn’t do anything about, or maybe it was the raw memory of those conversations last night, but suddenly…

“Camille?”

“Please, shut up.”

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

 

 

He hadn’t snuck into the inhabited parts of the station in such an incapacitated state before, but he made it to Ryan’s room without any major mishaps. By some stroke of cosmic luck, Ryan was there.

“Mornin’ darlin’.”

“Jesus, Akmazian, what are you doing here?”

“Askin’ for a favor.”

“A—what?”

“A favor? Surely you’re familiar with the term; you’ve asked me for enough of them.”

“Shut up. What do you want?”

“What are the strongest painkillers you have?”

 

 

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this. You don’t even know who he is, why are you so interested in helping him?”

“Is it still so hard to believe I want to help people? I thought you believed I was innocent. And keep your voice down, he’s not the only one with a hangover.”

“And you didn’t mention this before because?”

“You weren’t shoutin’ before.”

“And I’m not shouting now. Hold on, here—take this. It’ll help.”

“Thank you, good doctor. Come on, we’re almost there.” They went on in silence for a short time. Just before they rounded the corner, Akmazian remembered he hadn’t actually told Camille he was bringing Ryan. And this didn’t seem like a good time to surprise a guest with a track record like the one he’d heard about last night.

“Wait here, doc. I’m just gonna make sure he’s decent.”

“Since when are you concerned about that?” Ryan stammered, a flush visible even in the dim corridor.

“You misunderstand me, Dr. Dalias. If you’re gonna walk in on anyone _en dishabille_ in this cargo bay, I want it to be me.” He winked, though he wasn’t sure Ryan saw it, and went in. He was back in moments. When he’d told Camille he was bringing in a guest, he’d only gotten a groan and a mumbled sentence he didn’t catch, though he thought maybe he heard something about ‘euthanasia’ in there somewhere.

“It’s all clear, doc, follow me.”

The meds took effect quickly. And a moment after, Camille rubbed his face once more, and looked up at them—then gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

“That forehead—are you—you are, aren’t you? You’re Ryan?”

“Oh god, what has he been telling you?”

“Only the nicest things about you, doctor, I assure you. He’s really quite smit—ow.”

Kicking him in the ankle may not have been the most subtle way to shut him up, but it worked.

“Thank you, Dr. Dalias. For the medicine. And the water. And for coming down here,” Akmazian was fumbling. Ryan was looking at him with mild annoyance and maybe amusement and maybe something else but he didn’t know what. He decided to just shut up.

“You’re welcome. And you—“

“Camille Volte.”

“I doubt it. Look, I don’t know your story, but if you’re spending time with _him_ it can’t be good. Just…get out. Soon. Before I need to report you to my commanding officer.”

“Don’t worry, friend. He won’t do that.”

“Shut. Up.”

“What? You won’t and we both know it. I can’t have you threatening my guests, can I? Even if you are the only reason said guest can stand to listen to us right now.”

They both glanced down at Camille—who had sat up by now, though he was leaning heavily on the crate behind him. In spite of that, his eyes were alert and there was an amused half smile playing around his lips.

“Please, go on. It’s very entertaining. Doctor, you really are every bit as charming as Akmazian told me.”

“I—shut up—I have to go. I’m going to be late for work, and I don’t need Jane asking any questions. I’m serious though,” he added, glaring down at Camille, “don’t stay here.”

When Ryan was gone, Camille pushed himself to his feet, smoothed his shirt (ineffectually) and smirked, “Well, I certainly see the attraction. You have good taste.”

“He doesn’t make it easy.”

“No,” Camille said sadly, “the ones who are worth it never do.”


	4. Chapter 4

It came to him so suddenly he stopped in his tracks, as if he’d just run into a wall. He forgot where he’d been going, forgot what he’d been trying to do, turned around and went straight back to the cargo bay. There was only a slim chance that Camille would actually be there. Since that cathartic night last week, Camille had cheered up a bit. He wasn’t happy, but he was sleeping again. Instead of doodling all day, he’d taken to wandering the station, against Akmazian’s strong urging. He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. Or worried. Camille seemed like the kind of guy who could really take care of himself—as long as he wasn’t in the midst of a crippling heartbreak depression. But he was still there this morning. He’d gotten a book from somewhere and was lounging on a crate as if it were the most luxurious couch in the station.

“Peter.”

The man’s head jerked up and something flashed through his eyes; for the first time since they’d met his guest looked as dangerous as he was.

“What did you say?”

“Peter. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“I believe I told you, my name is Camille Volte.”

“One of them, yes. But you’re Peter, too. I thought I recognized you when you first walked in, but it only just hit me where I knew your face from.”

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken. You couldn’t possibly recognize my face. I never leave a trace.”

“Not anymore. But it’s an old story, you can’t have been more than, what, twenty? I remember reading about it as it happened. The man across the universe who scared a civilization so badly it even made the news on _my_ home world. Who did all that and then just…disappeared. Excitin’ stuff.”

“So some young man disappeared. And twenty years later you’re feeling nostalgic so you tell me I must be him because of some faint resemblance to a photograph of a man long gone?”

“I followed every story about the Guardian Angel System for five rotations after that. Every single one. _Someone_ , someone just about my age, had been brave enough to risk his life to take down a tyrant, to bring some justice into his world. He’d given them a chance to fix it themselves. And three rotations later, when they’d ignored the threat and, incidentally, still hadn’t found their alleged terrorist, _someone_ came back and took the city down. There were no names, no faces the second time around, but I always hoped it was him. Hoped it was you, I guess. It is you, isn’t it? You’re the hero I spent so much time idolizing…back before I saw what the world does to heroes.”

The silence stretched on even longer than his little speech. Long enough for his certainty to waver before Camille—no, Peter—finally spoke up.

“You’ve been kind. Which is why I’m going to explain this rather than simply killing you now. I _am not_ that man. I was, once. And I thought, recently, that I might be again. I told Juno my name. He… He made me want to be that man again. But Peter Nureyev died when Juno Steel walked out of that hotel room, and he _is no_ t coming back again. Ever.”

“Well. I’m sorry I never got a chance to tell him how much I—respected him. I hope he gets to rest peacefully for a while.”

“For what it’s worth, I think he would have respected you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

The hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his sleep so abruptly that his mind didn’t have time to process facts before his body jumped to instinct. He had his blaster in hand, pressed against the intruder’s chest before he even had time to shake the hair out of his eyes.

“Just me, Akmazian, don’t worry.” The smooth voice took a moment to register before he understood. He was still in the cargo bay, that mysterious guest who’d dropped in a few weeks ago. Akmazian lowered the blaster, then rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. You were…disturbed. Talking in your sleep, thrashing, that sort of thing.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all. I was awake regardless, but I thought perhaps you’d rather not finish the nightmare.”

Akmazian forced a hollow laugh.

“Was I mistaken?”

“In a manner of speaking. All I want is to finish this nightmare. To get my name cleared and get out of this goddamned cargo bay. You know how long it’s been since I slept in an actual bed?”

“I imagine it’s been a while.”

“There’s an understatement. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How a man like you can do all the things you do and still be able to slip in and out of the world whenever you want. Meet people. Even if you never let them know you, you can still have company whenever you want. I miss that. Miss people. I miss just bein’ around them. And the only people I’ve had a chance to meet since all this started? They all wish me dead. Even R—even the ones who know I’m innocent still hate me.”

 “That sounds awful. It’s no wonder you’re so tense.” Peter said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, well.” Akmazian couldn’t think of anything to follow it up with. A strange silence wavered between them for a moment, until Peter surprised him for the second time that night.

“I would be happy to change that, if you want to.”

“What?”

“If it would help you—” Peter trailed off. Akmazian looked to him expectantly, curious about what he had in mind. In the darkness he thought he could see Peter biting his lip and staring vacantly towards the maintenance shaft.

“Well?”

“Hmm? Oh, apologies, my friend, I was simply lost in thought. Now, why don’t you get back to sleep? I think you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”

Akmazian did his best not to voice his disappointment. He’d thought for a moment that Peter really might have a plan—a way to help ease the awful loneliness that was inherent with being an alleged terrorist. Surely if anyone could do that, it was him? But it was too much to expect. So he just shrugged.

“Whatever you say.”

 

 

Morning came sooner than he’d have liked. He hadn’t quite managed to get back to sleep. He’d gotten _just_ enough rest before the nightmare that his body thought it was pointless. Instead, he merely lay awake, listening to the rats in the corridor. At one point he even got up and went looking for Peter—just to talk—to no avail. He hadn’t heard him leave, but honestly that didn’t surprise him. He knew by now that Peter could move disturbingly soundlessly. So he’d gone back to his bedroll and tossed and turned and finally he must have drifted off for a few moments because the next thing he knew, Peter was kneeling a few feet away from him, unloading his pockets.

Akmazian watched the process through sleep-bleared eyes. He wondered vaguely if he was dreaming; after all, he’d never heard of pockets that could fit _so much_ stuff. Small bottles and tubes and glue and scissors and brushes and glasses and hell it even looked like he had a small pile of clothing he’d pulled from somewhere. Every time Akmazian thought he must have run out of things by now, Peter would glance thoughtfully at the collection before him—then reach into another hidden pocket and pull out something more. All the while, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Akmazian was bemusedly watching all this. At last, he couldn’t help himself.

“Did you rob the station gift shop or somethin’?”

“Ah, so you’re awake at last. No, no my friend, nothing of the sort. Well, _something_ of the sort, but not _quite_ that. Besides, it’s not as though anyone will notice a few little trinkets missing here and there.”

“And may I ask what those few little trinkets are doin’ down here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Akmazian cocked an eyebrow, but made no further response.

“Very well, I’ll explain. Or better yet, come here and I’ll demonstrate.”

“Intriguing,” Akmazian said, sitting up at last. He moved closer to Peter’s collection—and frowned in confusion as he saw more clearly what it contained.

“Is that—makeup?”

“You _did_ say you missed being around people, did you not? I happen to be an expert on disguises of all sorts—good enough to help you blend in without anyone batting an eye.”

“Okay, I’m game. So what do I do?”

“For now, just sit still and do exactly what I tell you.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you _sure_ I don’t need the hood?”

“For the last time, _Robin_ , you do not need the hood. You are a work of art, you don’t want to hide all my hard work, do you?”

And what a lot of work it had been. Akmazian had distinctive features—but his half hour of contouring had been the easy part.  Convincing him to wear the outfit Peter had picked out for him had been a challenge, but even that was hardly a hiccup compared to working with his hair. If Akmazian weren’t so attached to it, he would have simply sheared it off. But no, he wanted to be able to simply step back into himself when the fun was over. Peter envied him that. They had tried a few things—wigs, hats, different braids—before they settled on something that worked. If you couldn’t hide the hair, then make it obvious. He had happened to pick up a few intensely colored hair wax products while wandering the station, and they worked even better than he’d hoped. Akmazian’s hair still looked much the same in style when they were finished, but it was such a bright shade of blue that no one who saw it would think the person wearing it was trying to be incognito.

“I just hate feelin’ so exposed,” Akmazian grumbled, apparently still not convinced.

“I assure you, you are completely, utterly, _absolutely_ unrecognizable.”

“Akmazian?” a mildly annoyed voice just behind them asked. Peter gave a long-suffering look toward the ceiling, as if asking the void _do you see what I put up with?_ before turning around to see his new friend’s favorite doctor, hands on hip, staring at them.

“Doctor Dalias, I’m afraid you have simply the worst timing.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Simply taking a walk on the promenade.”  
“You,” Ryan glared at him, “shouldn’t be on the station. And you,” Ryan added, glaring at Akmazian now, “shouldn’t be up here. It’s dangerous.”

“Doctor,” Akmazian drawled, pressing a hand to his heart, “I didn’t know you cared.”

Before Ryan—whose cheeks had just gone a mild pink—could snap back, Peter interjected.

“Tell me, dear doctor, how did you recognize him?”

Ryan went even pinker and stammered for a minute before Peter cut him off.

“At least tell me if you think someone else could recognize him? Did I miss hiding something that someone who doesn’t know him well would notice?”

“I-I—it w—no. No, I don’t think anyone else would recognize him. Except maybe Jane or Levi or Doctor Urvidian, but honestly I’m not sure even they could pick him out of a crowd right now.”

“Well then, is it really so dangerous for him?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ryan repeated, pointedly not answering the question.

“Yes doctor, I believe we’ve covered that before.”

“Doctor Dalias,” Akmazian rejoined, “he’s just stayin’ with me til he gets back on his feet. And while he’s here, we thought it’d be nice if we could enjoy a day out an’ about like two normal people.”

“Are you two—” Ryan asked suddenly, eyes widening.

“Are we what?” Akmazian asked innocently—or it would have been innocent if it weren’t for the smirk he could barely suppress.

“Nothing. Never mind. Look, I have to get to the ER. I can’t force you two to be reasonable here, but if you get caught, don’t count on me to get you out of it, that’s all.”

“Doctor, you’re not sayin’ you would just leave me to rot in some Alliance cell somewhere? I’m wounded, I truly am.”

“Just—be careful. Please?”

“I assure you,” Peter promised, “we will be.”

“Fine.”

After Ryan walked away, Peter suggested they get something to eat.

“A wonderful suggestion. Ever had gim-jahk?”

 

 

In spite of his assertion that he was willing to try anything, once he saw it, Peter refused to eat the squirming mess Akmazian held out to him. Frankly, Akmazian was glad; he didn’t want to eat it either. When he asked Peter if he had an alternative, Peter rattled off a dozen. For the first time, Akmazian realized that his guest knew the station better than he did by now. He’d had the freedom to wander around all week, familiarizing himself with every level. Akmazian got to explore a little now and then, but more often than not he was too cautious to leave his cargo bay without good reason. Now, though…if Peter stayed long enough…

“Well?”

“The bakery?”

“An excellent suggestion. Come on, let’s go—I’m a bit peckish.”

Akmazian was still insecure about being out with his face uncovered, especially after being recognized so easily by Ryan, but in the bakery his fears were assuaged. He almost bolted out the moment they stepped in when he saw Doctor Urvidian at a corner table eating a cupcake, but Peter’s firm hand on his elbow kept him moving forward. They got to the counter, ordered their pastries, and settled at a table not far from Urvidian—and the old doctor didn’t bat an eye. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen them; he was surveying everyone in the shop with a bored, disdainful attitude. His gaze slid over them with the same unconcern as it slid over everyone else. He’d seen them, but he hadn’t recognized Akmazian.

“Everything alright Robin?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah sorry. Just…takin’ it all in.”

“It is a nice place, isn’t it? Much nicer than one would normally expect from a travel hub, at any rate.”

“No—well, yes, but that’s not what I—look, that man there, see him?“

“The one with the cupcakes?”

“Yeah. He’s Doctor Urvidian.”

“Urvidian? That name sounds familiar, but I’m afraid I don’t—”

“He works with Ryan. He knows me. He’s looked at us four times since we sat down, but I don’t think he knows _I’m_ me.”

“Of course not,” Peter smiled. “I told you, I’m an expert at this sort of thing.”

“I believe you now.” After a moment of silence, Akmazian’s contemplative expression split into a grin. “This is gonna be a good day.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven chapters in and I only just noticed that I tagged it 'sad space gays' instead of 'sad space criminals', woops

“Doctor Dalias?”

Ryan jumped so badly at the unexpected voice that he almost fell out of his chair. He could have sworn he was alone. He’d stayed late at the infirmary to finish some paperwork; no one even knew he was still here. When he had forced his expression back from “terrified” to “irritated”, he turned around to glare at the intruder.

“Who—no. No. Get out.”

“Doctor, I apologize if I startled you,” the man whose alias he’d only heard once and couldn’t remember said. Ryan didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to see this man.

“Get out of here. Get off the station. Leave.”

“My, you are hostile today. I know our mutual friend may find it charming, but I have to say I’m beginning to feel a tad unwelcome here.”

“Good.”

“I’ll leave soon enough, I promise you. But until I do, I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with me. Will that really be so bad?” The man practically purred this last question while smiling up at him through lowered eyelashes. What a flirt. No wonder he got along with Akmazian so well. Got along with him, or…Ryan pushed the thought from his mind and scowled at the intruder.

“Yes. It will. I can’t force you out without giving Akmazian away, but that doesn’t mean I can’t call security _here_.”

“Mmm, indeed. You could. But by the time they got here, I’ll have disappeared, and then where will you be?”

“Why are you here?”

“I was in a bad way—Akmazian has been helping me find myself again.” Something about the soft smile as he said this, the gentle tone, it irked Ryan more than he would have imagined. He tried to push that out of his mind as well.

“I meant in my office.”

“Patience, dear doctor, patience. As I was saying, Akmazian has been important to me since I arrived here. He’s helped me. And now I want to return the favor. He’s been so lonely, you know.”

The man gave him a strange look. Ryan shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. Just as Ryan was about to ask something else just to break the silence, his visitor spoke up again.

“I’ve been helping him get out and about, as I think you recall. It’s been lovely, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“ _Patience_. He hasn’t had the chance to make real acquaintances lately, even with the added protection. But you…you are his friend, are you not?”

“I—well, I mean, I—we—”

“Just so. I think it would mean the world to him if you would join us for dinner—in public, you understand.”

“I—what? Are you insane?”

“Not at all. He thinks so highly of you, and he’s been enjoying his time out of the cargo bay so much, I think combining the two could make for the best evening he’s had in ages. It’s not so much to ask, is it?”

“You…you came here to ask me to have dinner with Akmazian?”

“With the both of us, actually. He’s a talented man, but I feel compelled to look out for him. I can’t imagine how guilty I would feel if anything happened to him while I could have been there to help.”

“Why would I do that?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Do you need an incentive to give him a pleasant evening?”

“I—that’s not—”

“Well, I may have something. Come to dinner with us, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“If you put it like _that_.”

“You’ll be there?”

“When and where?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Akmazian?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“We’re going out this evening.”

“We are?”

“Yes. Now come on, we’ve barely got an hour and we haven’t even started your makeup yet.”

“Are we on a schedule?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Akmazian was curious, but he knew Peter well enough by now not to expect more information until Peter was ready to share. Which, given his flair for dramatics, probably wouldn’t be until the surprise was already happening. He sat on the crate Peter had gestured to, and closed his eyes, glad he at least knew what to expect at this point.

 

The restaurant was nicer than any he’d ever been in, even before he’d been framed. The kind of place he never expected to find himself. It made him nervous, being here. Not because he thought he would be recognized, just because it was so…nice. It didn’t help that Peter was behaving suspiciously. They were both there, and Akmazian was hungry, but when a waiter approached, Peter had motioned him away. Akmazian had asked why but gotten a non-answer. Now Peter was surreptitiously checking the time and trying not to glance towards the door.

“We waitin’ for someone?”

“What? Why do you—“

“Because I’m not as stupid as you seem to think.”

“That’s not what I think at all, I assure you. I just think that when someone promises to be somewhere at a given time, they ought to—ah, at last.”

Akmazian turned to see what had caught Peter’s eyes—and couldn’t believe it. He could barely see across the crowded room with all its elaborate décor in the way, but he would know those pink curls anywhere. But what on earth was Ryan Dalias doing in a place like this? And how had Peter known he’d be…oh no. Oh shit. What had he gotten himself into?

“Doctor, shame on you. You’re nearly ten minutes late.”

“Sorry, Levi was dying again.”

“What’s he got this time?” Akmazian asked, scrapping together as much nonchalance as he could.

“Smallpox.”

“How’s that?” Peter asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“There was an…incident…in the kitchen. He got some interestingly colored sauce splattered on his face and hands. He thought it was an old Earth disease. Very deadly—also, very extinct. Levi’s a hypochondriac.”

“Well, it’s a good story at least. I suppose I can forgive you this once.”

“Camille, you can’t blame a medical man for putting his patients above the dinner-date he was forced into.”

“Right, Camille, _that’s_ your na—wait, why do you think I was ‘forced’ into this?”

“You expect me to believe you’d be here on your own? Just to see my charmin’ face? Come on, doc, how’d he talk you into it?”

“Crude, dear, very crude,” Peter chided him, “but not wrong. I made him an offer too good to resist.”

“And that was?”

“No, no—no more business. We’re meant to be having a nice time, remember?”

“Hard to remember what no one ever told me.”

“Ak—sorry, Robin, he didn’t really have to twist my arm. I’m happy to be here, honestly.”

“Oh?” Akmazian tried not to let himself believe that too earnestly. Of course Ryan would try to smooth this all over and let everyone enjoy themselves for an evening, but when the evening was done… Well, then Akmazian would be back in the cargo bay and Ryan wouldn’t even think about him again until the machinations of fate—or Peter—threw them together again. Still, the way he looked at Akmazian when he said it did absurd things to his heart rate.

“You look…good. Blue’s a good color for you.”

“Such a nice shade, isn’t it?” Peter asked, reaching across the gap between them and tucking a stray strand of his hair back. Akmazian turned to look quizzically at him—incidentally leaning into the touch a little. What kind of game was this supposed to be? And why did he have to play it _now_?

“So, um” Ryan interjected, “did you guys already order?”

“Without you, darlin’? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Right. Right, yeah, okay.”

“You alright, Dr. Dalias?”

“What? Yeah, of course, just, um, just hungry. Is all.”

“We ought to do something about that,” Peter said, motioning now for the waiter to come over. Whether it was just good timing or whether the man was just charismatic enough to command the wait-staff in such a busy establishment, Akmazian would never know. The waiter was there in an instant with a bottle of wine and three chilled glasses.

“Truly excellent service. Here we are, doctor—“

“No thanks. I’ll just be having water.”

“Suit yourself,” Peter shrugged. He handed the glass to Akmazian instead, letting his fingers brush over the smuggler’s, letting them linger until Akmazian pulled his hand away. He didn’t want to make a scene, but Ryan was right there, watching, getting redder and more flustered and…oh. _Oh_. That bastard. This was going to be fun.

After they ordered—or, more accurately, let Peter order for all of them—they made small talk for a little while. It was strange, to see Ryan get so flustered every time Peter flirted too openly with Akmazian, or made some small proprietary gesture. He knew Ryan was easily embarrassed and blushed adorably over the smallest things, but he’d never seen him quite this responsive. He didn’t know just _why_ Ryan was so…on edge? vulnerable? tonight, but he knew he wanted to make the most of it.

“Robin’s told me _so_ much about you,” Peter drawled during the next lull in the conversation. Ryan looked down, cleared his throat, then picked up his glass. As he was drinking, Peter prompted, “But I’m dying to know, how did you two meet?”

Water sprayed everywhere. Ryan was choking, and Akmazian was laughing too hard to do anything about it. People were most definitely looking now, but for once Akmazian didn’t mind drawing attention.

“Was it something I said?” Peter asked, and if he was only feigning innocence, damn, he did it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Akmazian already tell him how they met? Maybe, he was really drunk, he doesn't remember.


	9. Chapter 9

He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Certainly, it was a conversation he wanted to _know_ had happened, but not one that he had ever intended to hear. He just happened to have chosen that niche between cargo crates that was near the corridor as a nice place to spend an afternoon doing crosswords. He couldn’t help it if that just happened to be the place where Akmazian and Ryan bumped into each other. Honestly, he thought they would just make a quick business deal or spend a few minutes on small talk and then leave. Really. And by the time it was clear this conversation was happening and happening _there_ , well, it was just too late for him creep away without risking drawing their attention. What a shame.

All the same, he was getting tired of Ryan snapping at Akmazian and his friend’s somewhat wounded but mostly confused replies. He really put the “hopeless” into hopeless romantic. Wondering if they would ever stop dancing around and each other and just _talk_ , Peter was about to risk leaving anyway when he heard the doctor take a deep breath, as if to brace himself before saying what was on his mind.

“Look, Akmazian, I—I came down here to ask you something.”

“Another favor?”

“Not exactly. Your…new friend—”

“Camille?”

“Yeah. That guy.”

“What about him?”  
“Are you… Um, do you trust him?”

“Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him. Do you?”

“I know I trust him. I know he’s been nothin’ but kind to me. And he’s good company. It’s—“

“It’s what?”

“A lot less lonely down here these days.”

“And that’s enough?”

“What?”

“He’s nice to you, and that’s enough reason for you to trust him? What if he’s an Alliance spy? What if he’s just stringing you along?”

“What difference does it make to you if he is? It’s my own neck on the line, I’ll risk it however I want to.”

“It _matters_ you idiot because I don’t want anything to happen to you. Do you know how much I worry about you?”

“No. I don’t. You’ve yet to mention this little detail, Doctor Dalias. Why not tell me now?”

“I—that’s—I—what if he’s just using you to get into EOS 10? What if he’s here to sabotage the station?”

“Stop. Look, I don’t know his whole story, but I know enough. He’s not here to hurt anyone. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about him.”

“But if he—“

“Darlin’ are you sure this is about trusting him? You didn’t even get this worked up over meetin’ _me_ and you thought I’d destroyed a star system.”

There was a long, expectant silence. Peter would have given almost anything to be able to see their faces right then—but this would be simply the _worst_ time to interrupt them. But the genuine surprise and amused affection in Akmazian voice when he spoke again was worth the wait.

“Why, Ryan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It is ridiculous. Not like anyone’d ever look twice at me, right? Just because you don’t—I mean, just because I’m a wanted man you think no one wants me?”

“I—that makes no sense—I don’t think…”

“Ryan?”

“Okay, fine, listen. You two…aren’t exactly subtle. If…if you really are happy with him, then fine. I’m—well, not exactly happy, but you deserve that. You deserve to be happy. But if you’re just with him because you were lonely and he was there, then I’m sorry, okay? I…I should have been there.”

“What are you tryin’ to say?”

“I—you—don’t make me say it. Please?”

“Sorry, darlin’, but I want to be absolutely sure we’re on the same page here.”

“Umm, okay. That’s fair. I—you were right. I’m…jealous. Of him. Of the way you are with him. I—I got so used to you…well. I thought you were…not waiting for me, exactly, but I thought you’d be there. When I started to realize I h-had— _have_ —feelings for you, I thought I could take my time to get used to that. I never expected someone else to swoop in and steal you away from me.”

“You like me?”

“Oh my _god_ , you _idiot_. Of course I like you.”

“Ryan, Camille and I—we weren’t anything. _Aren’t_ anything. We both needed a friend, that’s all. I would wait for you forever if I had to.”

After that, Peter was certain they were far too distracted to notice him slip away.


	10. Chapter 10

As it turned out, helping someone into the relationship they’ve been pining over for months was _not_ the best way to sooth his own broken heart.  Certainly it had been a pleasant distraction while it lasted, but that hadn’t been very long. They were both so besotted with each other, it only took one good shove in the right direction, and there they were.

It was silly to be so upset about his success. But Akmazian had been good company. A trifle simple, perhaps, but fun. Loyal. Trusting. Truly a breath of fresh air after…well. Better not to think about that. And to have that simple companionship so freely available for weeks, and then to have it just ripped away. He couldn’t blame Akmazian. It wasn’t as though he meant to abandon Peter—he was just so excited to finally be able to _be_ with Ryan that he took advantage of every moment he had.

And really it wasn’t even as though he was with Ryan all day every day. No, they were both too busy for that. Ryan had his work, after all, and Akmazian was now more eager than ever to prove his innocence. There were probably plenty of opportunities for Peter to spend time with his…was friend the right word? He’d allowed himself so few he hardly recognized the signs, and yet… Well, in any case, the lack of contact between them lately was as much Peter’s fault as anyone’s. It wasn’t that he _meant_ to avoid the cargo bay, but it just really didn’t seem like the place for him anymore. He would never be able to forget the evening he’d wandered back in after a long day of observing life on the station only to be driven right out again by the scene that met his eyes. Ryan and Akmazian were just…sitting there. With blankets and take-out and flashlights, and Akmazian was telling a story, bringing it to life with shadow characters. And Ryan was laughing and they both looked so happy. When Ryan leaned over to kiss Akmazian’s cheek, the smuggler went speechless. Peter couldn’t take it anymore. He’d all but run from the scene, an ache in his chest so painful he really wondered if he would die in this old maintenance shaft.

It only got worse after that. Suddenly there were happy couples everywhere. In every cafeteria and restaurant, people on dates surrounded him. Recreational areas seemed crowded by beings who were blatantly, obliviously _happy_ together. He couldn’t even stroll along the promenade anymore without seeing an obscene display of hand-holding (or other appendages, though for some reason that bothered him less). In a moment of sheer desperation he even fled into the lobby of some kind of medical bay— _not_ the one where Ryan worked, a dental place maybe? He hadn’t seen a sign—just looking for a place to sit and block it all out for a while.

It helped for a few moments. For a small sliver of time he was lulled by the uncomfortable shifting and occasional coughs, the scrape of cheap chairs across linoleum and the low chattering buzz of the stream on the small screen in the corner. Until he heard _it_ and the world spiraled out of control all over again.

At first he thought he was hallucinating. Juno had just been on his mind so much, was it really so strange that he thought he could hear him, grumbling about the weather? But no. The moody detective did not stop talking. And then there was another familiar voice…where had he..? It hadn’t been that long ago, he ought to know that—Cassandra. Cassandra Kanagawa. Saying something about her brother… It wasn’t until the voices were replaced by an ad about Saffron Pharmaceuticals that he realized what was happening. In an instant he was on his feet, inches away from the screen. He had never realized just _how long_ commercials went on until today. But eventually, there he was. Juno Steel. They wouldn’t (couldn’t?) show his face, but that didn’t matter. Even if Peter hadn’t heard his voice, he’d know his detective anywhere. But he _could_ hear his voice, oh god that voice…

“Hey pal, you wanna have a seat?”

“Excuse me? Are you speaking to me?”

“You’re blocking the view. It’s a dumb show, but a guy’s gotta have something to see while he’s waiting.”

It was all he could do not to strangle the little man then and there. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. When he knew he could do so without lashing out, he walked away. He didn’t have to sit here, to sit through commercials, to hear Juno’s voice again. There was a better way, he was sure.


	11. Chapter 11

Akmazian couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t seen Peter in two days, and the last time he had seen him, he’d been silently crying over some reality television show from a distant planet. He’d felt pretty low himself before, but to be crying over something like _that_? Things must be bad. All he could do was sit down beside his friend and put an arm around him. Before he knew it, Peter had been practically curled in his arms, sobbing against his chest. He had tried getting Peter to talk about it, but he wouldn’t say a word.

Eventually he’d gone to grab a bottle of whiskey—what else was he supposed to do?—but when he got back, Peter was gone.  And though he’d seen evidence that Peter had been coming and going from the cargo bay, Akmazian hadn’t actually seen him. The more time that passed without seeing his guest, the more worried Akmazian was. Eventually Ryan even noticed his concern. When he asked what was wrong, all he could say was,

“I don’t know.”

“Well. That’s—unsettling.”

“I’m fine, Ryan, I promise. I’m just…I think something’s wrong with Camille, but I don’t know. I’m worried about him.”

“Wh-what makes you say that?”

“He ain’t been around much for a while. And…” he trailed off, distracted by the way Ryan was suddenly biting his lip. He ought to feel guilty being able to forget Peter so easily, but damn if that wasn’t the cutest look on him.

“He’s probably fine,” Akmazian muttered before leaning in to kiss him.

 

He hadn’t been sure if it would work, but the Interface had been surprisingly quick to find the unfamiliar face in the station. Ryan had been in the med bay when the Interface had located him, but once he’d been found, he was easy enough to track. Once Ryan’s shift ended, he followed the Interface’s directions and ended up in the arboretum. He didn’t come here often; it was…nice. Nicer than he remembered. The trees, the vegetable gardens, they were strangely soothing to be around. It was big, too. It had to be, of course, to house so much diverse flora and gardens extensive enough to supply the station with fresh food, but still. He would have gotten lost if it weren’t for the interface guiding him. And he would have walked right past Camille if the Interface hadn’t beeped at him. It took a moment to spot the man among the rose bushes; he was standing so still he almost blended right in.

“Hey.”

The man didn’t respond, not right away. Ryan didn’t let that deter him.

“Hey mystery man. I can see you, you know.”

“Hmmm? Oh, it’s you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you you wouldn’t have to see me again—I’m sorry that your sudden decision to take a stroll has made a liar of me, truly—but I didn’t say I would leave the station altogether. Not right away at any rate.”

“I know. I’m sorry, by the way. I…misunderstood the situation. You don’t have to leave on my account.”

“Well,” the man said, raising an eyebrow, “Apology accepted, I suppose.” With that, the man turned his back to Ryan, absorbed by the roses again.

“He’s worried about you,” Ryan pressed. “He says he hasn’t seen you in days.”

“I _am_ a master of disappearances—you should probably forget that.”

“Okay, well _that’s_ not suspicious at all. I’m not asking you to tell me anything, I’m just saying you should go talk to him.”

“And there I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“I do, actually. It’s dangerous enough to have one fugitive hiding on this station—two of you means you’re twice as likely to be found out. But that’s not the point.”

“So then, the point would be--?”

“I care about him, and he cares about you, and right now he’s worried about you, so that worries me. If something’s wrong, _go talk to him_. Let him help you.”

“That’s sweet, dear doctor, but there’s nothing he can do.”

“Yeah, well, he won’t know that until you tell him.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You wound me.”

“Shut up. I—“

“Now really, do you want me to talk or to shut up?”

“Both. Talk to him, shut up to me.”

“My, what an eloquent thing you are.”

“Okay, I’m going to leave now.”

“Ta-ta, doctor dearest.”

“I dislike you.”


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter never did like to stay in one place for long.

“What are you doin’?”

“This? An ancient traveling ritual known as ‘packing’.”

“Why?”

“I’m leaving.”

“I—you’re what?”

“Leaving. I’m—sorry. I suppose I should have told you. I’m just…not used to that part of it.”

Akmazian crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest cargo crate, suddenly furious but doing his best not to show it.

“You gonna tell me a little more?”

Peter sighed. He looked at the open suitcase before him, then looked back at Akmazian, apparently conflicted. Then he shrugged and came closer to the crate where Akmazian was trying not to mope.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been ready to move on from a planet—or a station—and actually had someone who would miss me when I was gone. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone I could tell when I was leaving. I didn’t know what the right time would be, so I was…waiting for an appropriate moment.”

“And if one didn’t come up? What were you gonna do, call my comms and tell me you were already gone?”

“No! No, I wouldn’t—that would—no. I don’t know when I was going to tell you, but I would have said goodbye.”

“I’d hope so.”

There was a tense silence. Akmazian was hurt and angry and Peter…Peter was just hurt.

“I am sorry.”

“Yeah, well. That counts for somethin’.”

“I just…I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Back to him.”

Ah. There it was. Well, he should have seen it coming. And he should be happy for him. It was what Akmazian had been hoping he would do all along, right?

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say to that?”

“Good luck.”

“What?”

“You’re doin’ what you need to do. I—I hope it works.”

“You know, I think I’m going to miss you.”

“Well darlin’,” Akmazian said, winking and trying to maintain his bravado, “Come back and visit sometime.”

“For you dear? I promise.”

 

 

Overall, he’d have to say the timing was _incredibly_ convenient. He hadn’t been counting the weeks since he’d fled to the other side of the galaxy. Even once he was feeling more like himself and less like a recently-tortured-then-abandoned wreck, he hadn’t been paying much attention to trivial things like the month. So the fact that he arrived back on Mars just _days_ before Juno’s birthday was almost miraculous.

But once he was actually there, he didn’t know what to do. He’d run through a thousand scenarios—engineering a scene where Juno would spot him in a crowd and come running after him, or he could simply appear in Juno’s office one evening and ask him to help clear the name of an alleged galactic terrorist, or he could commit a colorful crime to catch the detective’s eye. But none of them felt right. Or maybe they all felt right. But he just couldn’t do it. He got close, so very, _very_ close—but he couldn’t do it. He followed Juno around, carefully staying just out of sight. He thought, perhaps, that Juno realized he was being tailed. Now and then he would pause and glare around suspiciously, but, knowing Juno, that might be something he just did anyway.

The only time he let the detective out of his sight was when a sudden inspiration pulled him into a flower shop. He already knew where Juno would be for the rest of the evening, so an hour later he had no trouble catching up with him. It didn’t take long: the detective was on foot, and Peter had a van, after all. He parked it just across the street from the apartment building Juno had stopped at. Part of him wanted to jump out of the van and run to the door before his secretary had even opened it. Part of him wanted to drive away and never come back to this planet again. The door opened and Juno went inside. Peter stared at the place where Juno had vanished a while longer before he finally forced himself to take the bouquet and get out of the van.

He didn’t know whether he was more excited or terrified as he rang the bell, he was _so close_ , Juno was just on the other side of the door—

“Mr. Mercury, hi, hello—”

It was the secretary. Over her shoulder he could see paper spaceships by the score, but Juno was nowhere in sight.

“Mr.—who?”

“Mr.--Oh. It’s just a delivery man.”

“Indeed it is. Tzar shipping, at your service. Sign here please. –And there you are.”

“But I didn’t order any flowers.”

“Goodbye.”

He couldn’t run down the steps, that would attract attention, but he could walk quickly, and once he was in the car he could drive out to the desert as fast as this van could manage. He could spend the night with the stars, gathering his courage to try again, and in the morning he could go back. He could keep watching and waiting for the right moment. He would have time. Lots of time. It wasn’t like Juno was going anywhere, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Th-th-that's all folks. For this story arc at least. But feel free to send me prompts for these guys on tumblr (youliveherenow) and I would be delighted to write smaller snippets about them for you.


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